


Strung Out on You

by CitrusVanille



Series: Video Killed the Radio Star [5]
Category: McFly
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Accidental sex tape, Kissing, M/M, Pre-Slash, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-03
Updated: 2008-11-03
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusVanille/pseuds/CitrusVanille
Summary: It's several lifetimes - or maybe just a few seconds - before Tom can tear his horrified gaze away from the camera to look at Harry.





	Strung Out on You

“Shit, Tom,” Harry’s quiet voice is loud in the stillness of the room after the sound of Tom’s recorded orgasm and subsequent cursing cuts out. The camera has clicked back to the beginning of the video – an innocuous still of the door to the dressing room toilet.

It’s several lifetimes – or maybe just a few seconds – before Tom can tear his horrified gaze away from the camera to look at Harry.

Harry looks back at him, wide eyes darker than usual with dilated pupils. He’s standing only a few feet away, and Tom’s not sure how he got there – when he moved.

“Was that –” Harry starts to ask, voice rough, scratchy. “Did you – from watching me?”

Tom can’t speak, doesn’t know how he can deny it, can’t even think of a way to just laugh it off – Harry _heard_ the recording, _saw_ him jerk off to the video.

“Shit, Tom,” Harry says again, voice strained. And then his hands are in Tom’s hair, forcing his head back and up, mouth smashed to Tom’s, tongue forcing its way past Tom’s lips in a kiss that’s just shy of outright brutal.

Tom gasps into it, and his arms flail wildly for a moment before he gets his hands between them – palms braced flat to Harry’s chest – and shoves Harry away as hard as he can, wincing as a few strands of hair rip free with Harry’s fingers. “What the fuck?” he demands, spitting mad, intense awkwardness forgotten, because, seriously – what the fuck? “This doesn’t mean you can use me as some convenient, easy lay. I’m not going to be a notch in your fucking bedpost.”

“Fuck the bedpost,” Harry growls, and he’s back in Tom’s space almost instantly, pressing him into the chair, fingers of one hand twined roughly in Tom’s hair again, his other hand somehow pinning both of Tom’s wrists over his head. “I’ve wanted to do this for months.” He grinds down against Tom’s hip, and Tom can feel how hard he is through his jeans – is suddenly acutely aware that he’s only in boxers, his own jeans still shoved down around his ankles.

“You –” Tom tries to ask, but he can’t quite force the words out, is having a little trouble breathing, can’t believe he’s getting hard again so soon – from _this_ – it’s not like he’s seventeen anymore.

Harry chuckles, the sound lower than what Tom’s used to, hot air brushing against Tom’s nose, cheeks, lips – Tom wants to taste it – hates that his body keeps betraying him – “I thought you knew when you walked in on me before the show,” Harry whispers.

And Tom didn’t – doesn’t – but he remembers the way he could see Harry staring straight at the camera in the video – straight at _Tom_ – remembers the way Harry said his name, remembers the way he had gasped and come when Tom had looked at him, and – “ _Fuck_ ,” Tom thinks – maybe says aloud, because Harry’s chuckling again – and he pushes up, catching Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugging for a moment before turning it into another rough kiss.


End file.
